Reluctance
by cocobomber
Summary: The pain is only worse when you hesitate. F!HawkexAnders


The City of Chains cannot contain its own madness. Apostates run wild, forced to become maleficar and abominations. And the templars swing their mighty swords, with the doubt that this is truly the right answer. The actions of a mad man have condemned all. A single blast no more than a few seconds has doomed the entirety of Kirkwall. And how many hours have gone by since? The soot still falls from that red sky like snowflakes. But they are not something that brings joy to the faces of children. You do not hold your hands out to catch as many as you can. You simply stare in horror as the flames of burning houses engulf the darkness like it was day. Then you spot the scraps of black and blues and purples and you wince because it is night, making this nightmare all the more real. And you soak in the ashes of the dead because they fall so freely from the heavens.

"Break it down!" The Knight Commander's voice roars throughout the gallows, like thunder. Armor clad warriors charge the metal gate. They claw and hack away until the rusty rods give in. Their battle cries echo through the prison. The mages turn to face their foes. They are half expecting to die. The scene that plays before Hawke's eyes is slow and painful. She turns to her left; a templar has run their blade through a mage's heart. She turns to her right; there is a knight coming to a halt as every bone in his body, all the liquid in his veins is turned to ice. There is no noise in her mind, but there is screaming, begging, crying, and death, tainting the purity of a silent night.

As the fight dies down, more bodies are piled. She looks at the blood that pours from the wounds of the fallen, at the staves being thrown into the fire, at the few tears that were allowed the chance to stain the floor. There is nothing she can do to express her sympathy that would not condemn her to the same fate as these fellow mages. In her heart she prays for their souls, but in her mind she questions the Maker. _How could he have possibly sat idle and watched as his creations stoop to the lowest form of being and slaughter each other_? Another abomination falls, the view of the stairs is no longer obstructed and thoughts of the Maker suddenly die down. A black feather flutters amongst the sparks of the flames.

"Why?" her voice is barely above a whisper as she asks. It trembles. Carver looks up as his sister speaks. He clenches his jaw and he reaches out for the older Hawke's arm. There is a jerk and she is free from his grasp. She yells to keep fighting, reluctantly, he complies. Sapphire eyes turn back to the man descending those dreaded steps. Her heart is breaking. She calls out to him, "Why? I let you live! I gave you the chance! Why are you still here?" She is hideous in this instance. Wrinkles form across her face from the combination of her furrowed brows and flared nostrils. Her long black hair is unruly and tangled; some strands even cling to her face from the tears that have flown from her now hollow sapphire eyes. No amount of magic can return things to how they once were. She can never smile the way she used to. She will never look as beautiful as she once did.

And neither will he. He will never look charming again. The stubble that ran across his cheeks and chin will never be attractive again; it will always be overgrown and disgusting. His blonde hair will remind no one of straw only grease. Whenever anyone will look into his brown eyes they will only see murder. And no matter how many times he tries the blood that has seeped into that feather adorned coat will never wash. But he doesn't care, and it is written across his face like the manifesto he worked so hard on. "An apostate and a mage; I suppose that never stopped anyone from being a fool," he is disgusted by the sight of his love on the other side, the wrong side. The monster has not manifested itself, but she can see Vengeance restlessly waiting for Anders to lose control. "How could I have possibly left? You have always told me how you believe in what I do! How we would fight this cause together!" He blinks away the tears that threaten to fall. "And… And then you let me live, after siding with them! Siding against everything we stood for!" His voice is accusing. They both know it's true though, all of it. She had led him on, making him believe that their cause was something he'd never have to stand for alone. When did it all change?

"I let you live because I love you, Anders!" her lip is trembling, but the tears have stopped. The rage building is overcoming the misery. He stands in front of her, or she in front of him. The revolutionary's calloused fingers stroke her porcelain skin and brush the hair away from her blue eyes. For a brief moment his touch is warm. And his gaze is soft. And he whispers, "…For that I'm grateful." But he reaches for the staff on his back. The act is slow and deliberate. "But you have made your choice, _Champion._" That staff is raised towards her throat. And they both know how this will is supposed to end.

She sneers at the gesture. "How dare you…" another faint whisper. There is no fear reflected in her blue pools. Undaunted she forces his hand down. "After everything I have done for you, Anders… I'm supposed to fight you?"

He nods. "You should have no problems, Hawke, look at all the mages that have fallen by your hands! No better than a bloody templar…"

Smack. "Do not speak as if you have any right to defend innocence! Now back off. You don't want to get in my way."

He rubs his reddened cheek. "I may never have that right, but at least I have defended those I have sworn to! So do not speak on the behalf of righteousness! Look at the corpses that lay at your feet! They are your own kind! I would rather die than see you do this!" He turns; already he can no longer bear the sight of her injustice.

"Know I felt the same as you destroyed the chantry."  
>He stutters trying to find the right words to say. "I… I hope—just…Never blame you for what I have done. You would have never stopped me."<br>She nods, even though he cannot see her. "Then do not blame me for trying to protect the only home I have."  
>He stops in the middle of the steps. "When did we become like this..?"<br>She laughs. Let this be their last wonderful moment."When I waltzed into your clinic for the first time. I'm sure we just never noticed."

"I loved you once." _Once._ She wonders why a simple word added to a sentence she's heard time and time again hurts so much. It is an indescribable pain that tears away right through you. "No, I love you… But I cannot watch you do this." He ascends again. As she watches he is getting farther and farther away. The distance that has always been between them is only evident now. He faces his love again; this will be their final bout. No tears will be shed. There can be no holding back.

She slams the blade of her staff against the stone floor. Her arm extends, hoping to reach the man she loves. But it's different; she is not hoping to reach the last of his humanity, to touch his face, to hold him. A bright orb engulfs Anders's form. Shielding him, protecting him from the ball of flame she cast in his direction. The barrier lifts. He watches her black hair flow elegantly behind her. She looks as if she is soaring as she climbs the steps. _Got you. _

A snow stream of blood runs down an ice wall.

"Shit…" she mutters. Her legs are caught in the frozen structure. She flinches at the sight of her left thigh. The ice has pierced through. The leather pouch that was once strapped on now rolls down those dreaded steps. Eyes shift in the two mages' direction. Mouths hang open. Legs push forward. Hearts beat.

Anders is ready for whatever fate that has been decided.

"No… NO!" she yells in desperation. The sheer power of her magical prowess rings throughout the gallows. Covered in flames her hands rise. Her body contorts, trying to free itself, and despite the pain the ice shatters. Her companions stop and retreat at the site of fire raining from the skies. Mages and templar stare in awe and fear. This is not some unknown spell. But the area it covers is almost unheard of. By the end many have fallen back to proceed with the fight. Her friends still watch as they slay mages. Carver fears for his sister as she falls to her knees, gasping for air. Fenris worries for his only friend, his almost lover. Aveline cannot stand the sight of the one person who has always been there for her, writhing in pain crawling up stairs like an infant. Varric find difficulty in not rushing to her side, and hopes she will return with her own stories to tell. Merill prays that this is a nightmare.

"Are you alright?" Anders asks with genuine concern. He forgets where they are, why they are fighting. All that matters for a fraction of a second is her wellbeing. But the smirk across her face brings him back to reality. "Damn"

She pulls her arm in close to her chest and a strong force pulls everything within the vicinity into a small vortex. He tries to stand against the pull of the spell, but fails. He tumbles into the maelstrom. The world feels as if it is still spinning. If he vomited right now, it would be no surprise. He tries to stand. Another one of her spells and he is on the floor once again. "By the maker," he utters.

"Stay down." Sapphire eyes are narrowed. The blade of her staff is pointed at his throat. She is standing on his hands. A mages hands are everything, this is what you are told growing up. Her heels dig into his exposed palms the moment his fingers twitch. "Stay down," she commands again.

Warm blood still trickles down her legs. His hands are stained, the hands that opened a clinic, the hands that were dedicated to healing. It is the first time he cannot reach out and mend her wounds. "You should get that looked at."

"You should worry about yourself."

He looks up with sad, brown eyes and they meet with hers. They share unspoken memories. The unbearable tension that lasted between them for years. The first kiss that sent their world spiraling. The late nights spent with hot breath against skin. The hours spent trying to find a kitten to bring home. He swallows hard, hoping the lump in his throat will go down. There is relief in the thought he will die. He looks back and smiles at what his life was once. "Daria," he calls out. "For what it's worth, I'm glad it's you. It was nice to be happy… For a while."

"Bastard," she hisses. "Why would you tell me that..?" Her arms tremble as she presses the blade closer towards his throat. Tears are threatening to fall. "Where is Justice? It'd make it so much easier..!" There is no Justice here. Anders is in control of himself. His breath is steady now, only his heart is wild. He is content. In a twisted way he is happy. So he mouths 'do what you must' and smiles again.

She wants nothing more than the strength to take a life. Not just any life, but his. She wants to say, _"You must pay for what you have done."_ And run the cold metal through his heart. But she can't. Not his heart. "Damn you!" she cries. He had forced her hand and now the bitterness of life has left its foul taste in her mouth.

Blood covers the staff's end. It seeps from the wound, slowly. Her knees are suddenly weak and she collapses. Her tears are not flowing but she hangs over his body trembling. The madness continues. Mage after mage fall until all that is left is a large room where Orsino had been standing ground.

She feels a hand on her shoulder. It is large and rough, calloused from swords. "Sister…" the younger Hawke stops as looks over the bodies before him. The blood is drying. The wounds have stopped pouring. Completely. "Daria… You—why would you do that?" She is expressionless. "The people of Kirkwall need justice," she says. They both know this is an excuse.

He bites his lip. _This is so wrong._ He hoists his sister up, insisting they face the First Enchanter now, "Come, Sister." She nods and takes a few steps ahead. Her stop is sudden. And she looks back with cold, blue eyes. "Break his hands," she orders. Carver's own sapphire eyes are uncertain, but defying his sister has never ended well. He is weary as he lifts his boot above the blonde's hands. It feels disgraceful to attack an unconscious man. But he tries to remember he is a murderer and it becomes easier to send his heel crashing down. There is an appalling crack and the mage lets out a whimper. Daria notices he is beginning to wake. "Sleep," she whispers in his ear. Before she sends a fist into his cheek.

* * *

><p>Anders wakes to find himself in a dark cell. It is reminiscent of his adolescent days. The solitary cells he would be locked away in for escaping one too many times. His head is throbbing and as he tries to touch his face he yells in horror. His hands are bound outside the metal bars. They are distorted and disfigured. Trying to move a finger is more painful than the beatings in the Circle. This is not the same as his adolescent days.<p>

"Go get the Viscount."  
>"Why?"<br>"I think the poor sod is waking."

He tries to move his hands but it is a fruitless venture. The pain only worsens. The magic is gone. "No!" he cries, repeating the single word over and over again. He can hear a templar speak, "Maker have mercy on your pathetic soul."

"Anders." His head shoots up at the sound of her voice. She is dressed in fine silks, the kind she wore to Orelesian parties. Her hair is free of blood. Her skin is smooth again, as if any battle had not occurred. He glares. His heart no longer beats for her. His blood boils at the sight of her. He shouts as she approaches his lowly prison, "Do not come near me!" She repeats his name and he continues to yell. "This is fate worse than death!"

"You should be grateful I continue to allow you to live!"  
>"Allow me? You condemn me! When these hands heal… Will you just break them again?"<br>"Yes." She says simply.

"Why would you do this..?" His head is hung low. Tears crash against the cold stone floor. "You had the chance! Why didn't you take it?"  
>"I-I couldn't."<br>"So you do this..? What do you have to gain from keeping me alive?" His skin begins to crack. A faint blue light seeps. "I will not stand this injustice! You, a traitor to your own kind! You will die! I will see that you and every templar perish!"

She lets out a light, bitter laugh. "It would have been so much easier if you appeared earlier." She looks at the knight to her left and he understands. His sword is drawn, its flawless steal gleaming from the faint flicker of the candles.

"Maker have mercy."

* * *

><p><strong>I never end as well as I start. xD Been wanting to write something along these lines for a while now. I like the thought of raising Anders's hope only to take the Templar's side because his ideals are too extreme. <strong>


End file.
